Treasure Island

Katrina Harms

(09-13-85 / Madison)

Evening


evening weaves its way into me-
cold and indifferent to me, i dream
longingly of that sweet-hot-honey-summer night
in south carolina
or the one in the north that
smelled like white pine sap and water,
clearer than tears,
an indigo dome of stars
(one of those nights enya sings about)
where somewhere,
a boy dreamt -of me-
a horizon, a liquid moon so pure,
you can see forever
Dreams creep like the trees' shadows,
the wet southern grass
on my feet, the gentle moaning of black voices
the red fantasies of your soft body,
your carefully sculpted neck
Daylight separates each memory into stalls of reason
but the evening spills out imagination
and images of us as one
But this night is so cold and dead,
it snaps my fragile body
in half.

Submitted: Monday, March 01, 2010

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